


Imminence

by Nyxalinth



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, Elder Scrolls Lore, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Hannibal Loves Will, M/F, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Morrowind, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Prophecy, Rating: M, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-23 04:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12499184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxalinth/pseuds/Nyxalinth
Summary: im·mi·nence  (ĭm′ə-nəns)n.1. The quality or condition of being about to occur.2. Something about to occur.Often confused with 'immanence', defined as existing or remaining within; inherent.Each event is preceded by Prophecy.But without the hero,there is no Event.  --Zurin Arctus, the UnderkingSummary: After doing battle with Francis Dolarhyde, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter fell into the sea. They find themselves strangers in a strange land, and embroiled in the destiny that awaits Morrowind. Will they take to the new land, or be destroyed by it?





	1. Adrift Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that there may not be much crossover appeal here, but this is a story that I have wanted to tell for ages. As much as possible--without falling into the trap of too much exposition--I have endeavored to bring forth understanding of Morrowind to Fannibals, and to help TES enthusiasts come to know Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. As such, expect spoilers on both sides, and be advised that in order to bring about the best story possible, the story's events will NOT exactly parallel the progression of the game.
> 
> Enjoy!

Prologue

 

“I did all of this for you. For us.”

 

They stood, trembling, on the rain-slick precipice outside of the home that Hannibal had intended as a place for them, holding each other close, covered in their own blood, each others', and that which still ran in warm and thick rivulets from the remains of Francis Dolarhyde.

 

Will clung tightly to Hannibal, barely hearing him above the roar and crash of the surf below and he rush of blood pounding in his ears. One seeking hand clung more tightly to the man whom he should never have called friend. Not because of that had passed between them, but because of what they were, and what they had the potential to bring about.

 

There was, however, something new in the moment here. He'd first seen it when Hannibal had been about to pour them both a glass of wine, just before Dolarhyde had attacked. “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,” Hannibal had just finished saying. Will had thought he had seen something in him, something glimpsed only very rarely, and even then, empath or not, he'd not quite believed what he'd seen. He'd seen it in those days where it seemed that he and Hannibal might be foster fathers to Abigail Hobbs, seen it when Hannibal interacted with animals.

 

It was a tiny spark. It showed Will who Hannibal might once have been. The spark in his own spirit had reached out, kept them coming back to each other.

 

“It's beautiful.”

 

They clung to each other, still trembling, and looked at each other. A moment more, and they may have kissed, giving vent at last to the longer for a deeper intimacy that had lain between them for years.

 

'I could end this,” Will thought, resting his head for a moment on Hannibal's strong shoulder. 'End it while there's still that tiniest spark of good in him. He would never admit to it, no, not Hannibal. Do it while we still have some resemblance to being human.'

 

“ _Immanence.”_

 

_The word filled his mind. A woman's voice, like none he'd ever heard, full of power and alien intelligence. In those scant, last few seconds, it brought to mind one of great power and unknowable motive._

 

“ _You have been chosen.”_

 

Will held Hannibal even more tightly. Hannibal, in turn, held him closer, and turning his head, sought his friend's lips. He offered no resistance, none at all, when Will took them both over the edge, into oblivion.

 

The sea swallowed them whole.

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

“Wake up.”

 

A voice, alien to my ears. Deep and rasping, it spoke in no tongue I recognized, yet I understood it perfectly. It was not, however, the voice of Will Graham. 'Will,' I thought, as if he could hear my mind. I wondered if he were present with me. I hoped it was so.

 

'I am awake,' I wanted to say, yet I could not make the words form beyond my throat. My mind felt thick and sludgy, as one does when coming suddenly from a dream-filled sleep to wakefulness.

 

I only recalled snippets of the dream. The voice of a woman, filled with some inchoate power, speaking of a place unfamiliar to me. I saw a series of strange landscapes: a wind-swept, ashen gray wasteland. A massive volcano, its slopes dotted with strange spires of some dull, golden metal, the sky blood red and choked with ash. A languid, murky swamp, filled with festering pools of green scummy water and mushrooms like towering trees. A great, walled fortress of a city, a statue of a dragon at its port entrance.

 

The woman spoke again, but I could not hear her words. Instead, I saw them in my mind, as if they'd been imprinted upon it.

 

_'_ _Fear not, for I am watchful._ _'_

 

“Wake up,” the voice repeated. “We are here.”

 

“Wh—where...” Finally, my tongue worked again. I heard now the creaking of timbers, the sound of waves slapping a vessel's hull. So, we were on the water. Was this Will's boat? If so, who was this man speaking to me? I shivered all over. The last I recalled, Will and I had just defeated Francis Dolarhyde, the madman who'd styled himself the Great Red Dragon. We'd stood on that cliff where land fell away to the sea, embracing. Then, either by weakness or design, Will had topped us both into the ocean.

 

“Why are you shaking?” the voice asked of me. A warm hand laid itself on my forehead, as if checking for fever. Perhaps I _was_ ill, and all of this had merely been an incredibly odd and detailed dream. “Are you okay?”

 

“I... I don't know.” With some effort, I forced my eyes open.

 

I found that I was indeed aboard some sort of sailing vessel. The cargo hold, to be precise. I had to smile a bit at that. Will had once joked he'd hauled me out of captivity like 'hauling a sack of potatoes'. How amused he would be to see me being hauled as cargo. I turned my gaze in the direction of the voice.

 

The speaker had squatted down by my side. He wore only ragged trousers and a pair of jute rope sandals, his deep gray skin lined with old scars. His arresting face held knife sharp cheekbones and thin lips, but what truly caught my attention were his eyes, which were the deep ruby color of a fine red wine. A scar crossed his face from forehead to mid-cheek, barely missing his left eye, and his ears were long and pointed.

 

Abigail, like most young girls here age, had been enchanted with fantasy novels and movies such as “Lord of the Rings”. This person by my side made me think of elves from those stories, though of course the skin and eyes were strange even by the standards of the genre.

 

“I am Jiub,” he said. He stood up once more, then extended a hand to me. “Stand up.”

 

I allowed him to help me to my feet. As he steadied me, I said, “I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

 

He nodded. “A healer, then. Good. Never enough of those in this world.” Well, I've heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go.”

 

I heard his words, but did not immediately acknowledge them. I was too busy examining my person. I still wore the same bloody, torn sweater and by now filthy trousers that I'd been wearing when Will and I had gone over the cliff. I'd lost my shoes and socks somewhere along the way. Turning out my pockets, I discovered too that I had nothing on my person, no money, no weapons.

 

Having finished my examination, I said, “Morrowind? Where is that? And what do you mean by 'let us go'? Are we prisoners?”

 

Jiub's eyes narrowed with concern. “Are... you all right? Last night's storm couldn't even wake you. You were even asleep and didn't stir once, even when I was brought on board. Perhaps a head injury? Well, no matter. We're about to arrive in Morrowind, It is homeland to my people, the Dunmer, or as you outlanders call us, dark elves. To answer your other question, seeing as we're both on a prison ship, I would have to wager a guess and say yes, we are.”

 

His subtle sarcasm wasn't lost on me. However, he'd given me an idea. I didn't know where I was. Morrowind meant nothing to me. I was, perhaps, a stranger in a strange land. I would be expected to know these things. However, if I pretended a partial amnesia, perhaps due to injury while 'imprisoned', it would buy me a measure of time while I learned about the world.

 

I briefly considered if I was still dreaming. It was possible, of course, but if it was merely a dream, it was entirely too coherent and sensible, despite the stranger elements. For now, until I saw evidence to the contrary, I would assume it was reality and not fantasy.

 

Wherever I was, my first and foremost goal was simple enough. I needed to find Will Graham.

 

Jiub seemed about to say something else, then shook his head. “Quiet. Here comes the guard.”

 

I heard nothing at first. Then, gradually, the sound of booted feet treading the deck reached my ears. A moment later, a dour-faced man dressed in studded leather cuirass and greaves. A short and unimpressive-looking—but undoubtedly deadly—gladius sword hung on his belt. He sized us both up, then ran a hand through his short, dark hair.

 

“All right. This is where you both get off. Come with me.” He turned and started off without waiting for an answer. Jiub and I looked at each other.  
  
“Well, best we do as ordered, I suppose,” I said, and we both followed him up and out on deck.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Sense momentarily took its leave of me.

 

I stood on the deck, struggling nearly in vain to not gape at my surroundings like a slack-jawed yokel. Some of which I saw was as familiar to me as my own name. The ship itself was quite mundane, bearing a passing resemblance to a caravel of the 17th century. The gangway led down to the dock, which was equally unremarkable. Beyond the dock lay a small village of mixed thatch-roofed stone buildings as homes along with a cluttering of small shacks made of some dull gray wood.

 

This was not that which so commanded my attention, however. In the distance, I saw an enormous, floating stone, held hovering in place by some force I could not imagine. Even from here, I could make out that it was of some importance, but as to its purpose, I could not fathom.

 

Also, along the edges of the shoreline across the way I saw a few more of those towering mushroom trees. A winged creature perched atop one, and its screeching cries carried thin and grating across the water. Suddenly, it took wing and swooped down upon something unseen that made a final cry of its own.

 

What truly commanded my attention, however. From where I stood on the deck, I caught sight of an enormous insect. It greatly resembled a flea, albeit one hundreds of thousands of times larger than any one I'd ever seen. It stood nearly motionless beside a loading platform, and I spied a lone figure walking back and forth. Perhaps it was some sort of transport, and if it was, it was certainly the most bizarre I'd ever seen. The creature made some sort of low, keening moan that echoed across the village.

 

_'Will, I need you. More than ever before.'_ I didn't want to need him. In that moment, however, I felt more lost and adrift, alone, than I ever had. If I was to survive here, however, and find him, I could not wallow in the luxury of those emotions.

 

“You there. Stop lollygagging, and get yourself down to the census office.” The dark-skinned human male pointed down to the deck. I gave him my coldest, most appraising look. 'You are terribly rude,' I thought. 'Whatever shall we do with you?' Well, it wouldn't do to allow my usual urges to direct me.

 

At least, not yet.

 

I only nodded, and made my way down to the deck, where I was met by yet another guard. This one was no sailor. Instead, he wore armor that would not have been out of place in a performance of a second-rate performance of “Aida”, perhaps as the armor of one of the Roman guards. He was slightly more personable than the previous two men, however, giving me a small smile and a nod.

 

“You've finally arrived,” he told me. “The dark elf has already been processed and is off and out, I reckon. First time in Morrowind? It really took my breath away when I first got here, too.” He unrolled a scroll he held, and his brows knit in puzzlement. “Huh. There's no information for you.” He pulled a quill out from behind his ear. “You want to help me fill in the blanks?”

 

“I suppose so.” I gave him my name, and he noted it down. “All right, then. You're a healer, then? Good, good. Race?”

 

“Well, human, last I checked,” I said.

 

“Of course, but are you a Nord? Cyrodiil, like me? Breton?” He shook his head. “No, you look mostly Nord, but you might have some Breton ancestry.... hmmm. Let's just say Nord.”

 

“Very well, then. Nord.”

 

He made a note. “Ummm, let's see... Oh! Birthsign?”

 

I raised a brow. “Of what use could astrology possibly be? Very well. I am an Aquarius, and my birthdate is January 20th, should you have need of it.”

 

He looked puzzled, and I could almost smell the wood burning as he thought it over. “January... uhh, is that, ummm...”

 

“It's the beginning of the year, if that will help things along.,” I said, feeling a bit testy by now. I wanted to be done with this nonsense, find or steal some clean clothes, bathe, eat, and rest. Then when I'd accomplished that, I would seek out Will's whereabouts.

 

“Oh! Yes, that helps. That would be the 20th of Morning Star, that puts you under the sign of the Ritual. Interesting.” He wrote it down, then waved the parchment to dry it. Handing it to me, he said, “Don't smudge it, or we'll have to do this over again. Ergalla is a stickler like that.”

 

He opened a door for me. “This is the Census and Excise Office,” he told me. “You'll need to see Soccucius Ergalla immediately. He's the balding Breton man with the goatee. He'll see you on your way. I wouldn't attempt to circumvent things. It won't end well.”

 

I detected no threat in his tone, only a statement of fact. “Indeed,” I agreed dryly. I went through the door he opened for me. As I passed through, I heard him mutter to himself, “By the nine, I need a drink.”

 

'As do I,' I thought, passing through the door.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Soccucius Ergalla was quite distracted when I entered. His attention was currently commanded by a female Dunmer of possibly early middle years. Her red hair was tied back from her face in a loose ponytail, and her gray hands twisted and worried at the brown fabric of her robes. Her brows pulled together as she spoke.

 

“Sera Ergalla, please. I must know what news you've had of my beloved Processus. He's been missing nearly three days now.”

 

Ergalla put down the quill he held. “Thavere, we are doing all that we can to find him. He is a good man, and an excellent servant of our Empire. I assure you, we're doing all we can to find him, but with our limited manpower, we-”

 

“Yes, I imagine that the manpower is quite limited indeed, considering all the effort being put into cleaning out that bandit cave just around the bend from the silt strider, and--”

 

His head snapped up and he glared at her. “Mind your tongue, muthsera. I cannot extend any more manpower to either the search, or to clearing that old cave. It's all we can do to keep the cliffracers and nix hounds out of the village.”

 

Even though I knew nothing of the situation playing out before me, I could tell that Ergalla was merely an overworked and underpaid bureaucratic slave. The Dunmer woman was clearly distressed, someone had gone missing, and, if I understood correctly, there was a band of miscreants holed up in a nearby cave that needed to be corrected for their ill behavior.

 

I pondered my situation. I could easily ingratiate myself with the locals, prove myself invaluable and win their trust and respect. Helping them would achieve that, along with bringing me enough reward to support myself while I sought to find Will. Had he arrived shortly before me, and was even now seeking me out? Was he elsewhere in this world, finding his own way? Once, I had cooperated with the FBI, working as a consultant. It had brought me respect and had thrown off suspicion of me, at least for a time.

 

The woman lowered her eyes, then nodded. “Forgive me, sera. I spoke harsh words.”

 

Now he smiled kindly at her, saying, “Ulnderstandably so, I suppose. You love him, after all.” His gaze fell upon me, and he gave me a brief nod. He stood up, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “We will find him, muthsera. You have my word.” He steered her to a door opposite the room. “Be at ease, and we'll give you word once we know something.”

 

“Understood. Thank you, and ALMSIVI 's blessings upon you.” She left, closing the door behind her.

 

Ergalla returned to his desk. “Ah. You've arrived. Very good. Let me see your papers.”

 

I handed him the parchment scroll. He unrolled it and quickly scanned it, then scrawled down a few notes of his own. As he did so, I allowed myself the luxury of looking about. The small office was warm and cozy, though the rugs were threadbare and the tapestries splotched here and there with mold. I supposed that couldn't be helped, given that the village sat next to the sea, and the smell of the swamp reached me even here.

 

I glanced across the room, as was immediately greeted by my own, familiar gaze in a polished silver mirror. Blood and mud splattered my face and dirtied my hair, which stood up in wild disarray around my face.. A scratch ran down the side of my cheek. I needed a bath and new clothes, a good meal, and a night's rest not accompanied by the sound of the sea.

 

Soccucius interrupted my thoughts. “A healer, then? Very good. We can always use more of those.”

 

“Pardon my having overheard,” I said, “but I would like to offer my services, both in the matter of the bandits, and of the missing man.”

 

He blinked at me. “Currently out of the question, I fear. Until your processing has finished here, you are still technically a prisoner. When you have finished processing, and care to return tomorrow, we can discuss the possibility of both tasks.”

 

Bureaucracy reared its ugly head. I would likely fare better and get a larger share of any loot found if I simply went it alone, then claimed credit for it. If I were to survive and make my way through this world, I would need as much money and resources as I could obtain

 

As if he'd read my mind, he said, “You'd likely be best served by seeking out both on your own. Now. Take these papers, and proceed on to the next room, down the hall, and speak with Sellus Gravus. The captain will give you your release fee. Not a princely sum, but enough to get you a weapon or a piece of armor.”

 

“Why would you be willing to give me money for being released?” I asked. I knew from my own and Will's experience that upon being released from prison, one's belongings and money were returned to them. But money simply being given to a prisoner upon release was unheard of.

 

He nodded. “We do that because if a prisoner is provided with the means to give him-- or herself a basic start upon being released, it lowers the recidivism rate considerably.”

 

“Ah, that does make sense. Please, direct me to the captain's office.”

 

“It's just down the hall through the doorway, then take a right. Do not stop in the dining room to dally about or pocket any treasures along your way. Proceed straight to Captain Gravus.”

 

'If Will was here,' I thought, 'he would have added 'Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.'' I nodded my thanks, and proceeded through the doorway that he indicated.

 

The dining room boasted a table that seated ten and had places set for the lunchtime meal. Several bottles of what I presumed to be some sort of alcohol were placed on the table, though no food was yet present. Each chair was upholstered with lightly scuffed red leather. A bookshelf held a few books, each in a written language I had never seen, and yet, as with the spoken language, I could read the titles perfectly. 'The Firmament'. 'A Brief History of the Empire: Volume One'. 'Mixed Unit Tactics'.

 

I turned back to the table. Now I noticed a worn and scratched dagger sticking out of the table, which had also seen better days. I took a brief look about to ensure that I wasn't being observed, then quickly tucked it into my belt. Whatever amount of money they would be giving me, I had no doubt that it wouldn't quite be enough. Across from me on the wall hung a large red and gold tapestry featuring a golden dragon surrounded by a diamond.

 

Next to it, I saw a map featuring a large continent, with a star showing where I was, the village of Seyda Neen. Other locations were listed as well. Ebonheart. Vivec. Sadrith Mora. Ald-ruhn. Balmora. Almost dead center was a massive volcano labeled as 'RED MOUNTAIN'.

 

I studied the map in its entirety, and committed all the labeled locations to memory as I was able. Given that I was eidetic, it didn't prove difficult for me.

 

Having studied the map, I left through the opposite door. Captain Gravus stood up from his chair, nodding to me. He had the same Romanesque look as the man on the ship and his counterpart on the decks, only his armor was of bronze-decorated steel. His sword, though still short and businesslike, looked sharp and deadly.

 

“Your papers, please.”

 

I handed them over. He studied them closely, then nodded once more. “I have two things for you,” he said. He handed me a different scroll, and also a small leather bag. The bag felt heavy in my hand, and I heard the clink of coins.

 

“The bag of coins is for you,” he said. “The scroll is sealed orders. Don't even think about opening them. They're encoded, first of all, and second of all, it's not your business until it's _made_ your business." He eyed me with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as though he couldn't quite fathom why someone in a bloody, ragged sweater and dirty, torn-up pants could ever have any worth to his superiors.

 

“Orders?”

 

“Yes. They're sealed, and need to remain like that. Understood? Good. Your orders, as given to me, are to find your way to Balmora. Once there, you are to seek out one Caius Cosades. Report to him. He will read these orders, then advise you further on what you are to do.” He looked me over again. “I have no idea why you have been chosen for this task, only that you have.” He snorted at me. “Now get out. You stink of blood and filth.”

 

My eyes narrowed. 'And you reek of rudeness.' “All right then.”

 

“Move on. Once you leave this office, you are no longer a prisoner. You are a free citizen. It will be up to you to remain that way.”

 

“Of course.” I gave him a lingering look. He returned my gaze for a time, eyes narrowing, then looked away. I smirked and left through the door.

 

After all, there were no laws against giving someone an unsettling stare.

 

 

 


	2. A Few Inquiries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now out into the world at large, Hannibal asks the locals for clues as to Will's whereabouts, and makes a terrible discovery.

Chapter Two

 

I stood outside the Census and Excise Office for a time, watching the locals come and go and getting my bearings. It was quite a small place, I noted, with a tiny bridge leading over a stream of brackish-looking water out into the world at large. Judging from the sun's position, I faced slightly to the north and east, or this world's equivalents of such.

 

Somewhere, a dog barked. That made me think of Will again. It angered me at times that the unassuming, scruffy empath had made such a huge impact on my world. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed and afraid that someone could cause such feelings in me. It gave them some measure of control over me. Love could be a prison, and I longed for freedom even as I relished the idea of gladly being his captor and captive both.

 

I shook my head. There was no denying it. I would not and could not rest until I found him—alive, preferably—and had closure on his whereabouts. To that end, standing about and ruminating would avail me of nothing. I had to put my initial plans into motion.

 

To that end, I found myself doing something that I could never before imagined myself doing: peering into the nearest refuse barrel, seeking some measure of salvage that I might put to use or sell to a local junk trader.. Feeling like quite the mendicant, I pawed through discarded papers, scraps of molding food (no doubt adding to my increasingly foul personal miasma), and old scraps of cloth. I wondered what my old foes would think of the sophisticated, charming, and murderous Dr. Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper, digging through rubbish like a one of Will's dogs happily exploring the contents of an unattended trash can. Before it could make me feel even the tiniest bit humbled, I pushed the thought away.

 

I began to pull my hand out of the barrel, and in doing so, my fingers brushed against something warm and metallic-feeling. I grasped it, and immediately discovered that I had found a ring, hopefully of no small value.

 

I took an appraising look at it. Made of gold, the band was simple and smooth. It boasted a single small gemstone, which I took to be a peridot. Holding it up to the morning sunlight, I could see that the stone, small as it was, was of very good quality. What puzzled me, however, was that despite the rest of the trash being tepid to the touch, this ring was as warm as my hands, if not slightly warmer. Had the owner only recently lost it?

 

In any event, it was now mine. Even if I couldn't obtain a full price for its value, I felt fairly certain that it could fetch a decent amount of money. However, before I could even find a buyer, I would have to clean myself up and obtain proper clothing. Dressed as I was and reeking as I did, I would only arouse suspicion, and possibly land myself in prison once again. That would no doubt end my endeavors very quickly. I tucked the ring into my pocket.

 

Another elf, fair-skinned and slightly smaller and slighter than the local Dunmer, wandered past, grumbling under his breath something about the local guards and shaking down Fargoth'. I would have been content to ignore him—I'd had the idea to approach one of the guards about where the possibility of a communal bath house in the village—when he spoke directly to me.

 

“Greetings, stranger. Did you just get off that boat that pulled into port? So strange, seeing one at this time of day. They usually arrive in the afternoon.” His nose wrinkled slightly. “I uh, don't mean to be rude, but there is a bath house, just by the bridge leading out of town. You might want to make use of it before you start mingling with the locals.”

 

His eyes struck me. Unlike the Dunmer I'd seen thus far, his eyes were neither red nor purplish but instead a glistening onyx black, sclera and all. He was otherwise perfectly ordinary-looking, if an elf of any sort could be said to be ordinary. I wondered what Abby would have made of this particular specimen, or any of the Dunmer.

 

Well. He was not mistaken. My current appearance and odor left much to be desired. He merely stated fact, and was attempting to be helpful, unlike Captain Gravus. That one was still on my mental menu. “Thank you,” I told him.

 

“Sure.” He moved subtly upwind of me. “Maybe you could help me, now? I've lost my ring again. Either that, or these damned useless guards took it again. When did the Empire start hiring thugs? Between them always stealing my stuff or hiding it or calling me a very rude variation of my name—which is 'Fargoth' by the way—they're always jerks to me.” The blond elf scowled. “What did I ever do to them? Fetchers.” He flapped his arms in a long-suffering gesture of 'Well, what can you do?' “Anyway, have you seen my ring? It's gold, and it has a pale green stone in it.”

 

Yes, I had indeed seen that very ring: it was currently residing in my pocket. I pondered the possibilities. Chances were, even if the guards had taken to picking on the little elf, he might have a friend or two here in Seyda Neen. Helping him might give me more influence with the villagers. That in turn could lead to my having a much simpler time ingratiating myself, which in turn would make it easier to obtain necessities and information. The ring might also be recognized if I attempted to pawn it, which might lead to trouble that I did not want.

 

“I found a ring in that rubbish barrel.” I pointed to it, then reached into my pocket. I held out the ring, saying, “You might, of course, wish to clean it. There was all manner of detritus in that barrel.”

 

His eyes lit up. “By Azura, yes! That's the one!” Unmindful of my words, he reached for it and immediately put it on his finger. “Thank you, stranger. It was my grandmother's. It saved her many times in an emergency. It has a very minor healing enchantment on it. Oh! Since you helped me, I can help you. My friend Arrille runs the local tradehouse. I'll tell him how you helped me, and I just bet he'd give you a special deal on anything you wish to buy.”

 

I nodded to him. “That would be helpful. Thank you. My name is Hannibal Lecter.”

 

His obsidian eyes lit up again. “Thanks again, Hannibal. Anything else?”

 

“Just one minor thing. I'm looking for a friend of mine. He wasn't on the ship with me, alas. He stands about this tall-” I held my hand next to my head, just an inch or two shy of its crown. “He has blue eyes, dark curly hair, and the scruff of a beard. He looks slender, but he's strong. He might or might not have a dog with him—I heard one barking earlier.”

 

Fargoth pondered. “Well, I think so. Thought I saw someone who looked like that head out west along the coast. “ He pointed. “I'm not too sure, though, since that fetcher Hrisskarr Flat-Foot decided to start hassling me about something again. He didn't have a dog with him, though, not that I saw, anyway.” He hastily added, “I mean the man I saw didn't have a dog, not Hrisskarr.”

 

“Thank you.” Disappointing, but it was at least something. “Good day to you.” I nodded to him, then made my way in the direction of the bath house.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The Dunmer at the bath house took one look at me and, I am sure, considered shooing me back out to bathe first in the sea. His better—or perhaps simply more prudent—nature won out, however, and he said, “Welcome, outlander. It looks as though you've been dragged by nix hounds from one end of Morrowind to the other. Not to worry. My baths can rid even the most, ah, fragrant scents. They have special properties, as well, given by the soaps I carry. Get out of those rags, and I'll throw them into the fire. I have a clean robe that I can sell you, for just five septims.”

 

“I see. Very well, then.” With no hesitation at all, I stripped out of the rags, not bothering to tell him that the sweater I wore was of the finest cashmere and had cost six hundred dollars, and the trousers nearly as much. The Dunmer tweezed each piece I handed him—the sweater, the trousers, the paisley silk boxers--between thumb and forefinger before bearing them into the fireplace. The flames devoured my erstwhile garments eagerly, sending up a whoosh of sparks as they consumed them.

 

The bathtub was a simple affair of brass-bound wood, the same dull gray wood I'd seen composing the shacks, but it was clean and had a small wooden stool affixed to the bottom. The attendant touched the tub, and to my amazement, it promptly began to fill with fragrant, steaming water. I tested the temperature, and while it was slightly cooler than I might have liked, it was sufficient.

 

“Quite marvelous, isn't it? Telvanni magic can do wonders, though I don't trust any of those wizards any further than I can throw them.”

 

“Oh?” I didn't wish to give anything away of my lack of knowledge. Magic was obviously a given here, something of which that even the basest peasant was likely aware. Something in my tone and expression alarmed him, perhaps, for he suddenly said, “Forgive me, muthsera, if you are one of House Telvanni. I mean no offense, of course.”

 

“I am a stranger here, and not familiar with them.” I climbed into the tub, aware of the Dunmer's eyes discreetly upon me. He certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, with his black hair and angular features, but I wasn't looking for anything intimate at the moment, as curious as I might have been to know more of his people.

 

He handed me soap and a rough washcloth. Ironically, the soap brought to mind that long ago scent that I had teased will about when we'd first met. I sighed inwardly. As I washed, he said, “They are powerful mage-lords, muthsera. Quick to anger and very eccentric. They live out along the east coast of Vvardenfell, but that's all I really know.”

 

“I see. Are there any other Houses, then?” I had heard the proper noun status in his voice, and it aroused my curiosity. He nodded. “There's House Redoran. They are based far north of here. They are good, honorable mer and men. Somber, pious, and valiant. And, House Hlaalu.” He sniffed. “Merchants and traders, mostly, with an eye for profit. Not bad folks, overall, but too money-motivated for my liking, however I hear that their Councilor, Crassius Curio, is a patron of the arts.” He went to a cupboard and opened it. “You'll find them based in Balmora, if I'm not mistaken. Or is it Vivec?”

 

I washed and rinsed my hair and body twice over. Each time, the tub emptied and refilled of its own accord. The attendant—who eventually introduced himself as Vals Mero—busied himself with tasks on the other side of the screen after placing a towel and additional soap within easy reach of me. Once I felt clean enough, I climbed out of the tub and used the coarse, slightly threadbare towel to dry myself off.

 

Vals had lain the robes over the screen. They were of a slightly faded peacock blue, the once fine embroidery along the sleeves and neckline beginning to fray. I slipped them on, and from their feel they had obviously once been of good quality. I stroked one sleeve, admiring the softness, when Vals spoke again.

 

“I have placed some basic toiletries out for your use, outlander. They are included in the bath's price. Unfortunately, I have no footwear to spare, but now that you've bathed, I doubt that Arrille would object to selling you a pair of boots. Forgive me, but when you first arrived, you smelled like the back end of a guar.”

 

“Well, I can hardly disagree with that.” I didn't know what a 'guar' was, but it was easy enough to assume it was some large animal native to the area. I emerged from behind the screen, noting that his eyes widened ever so slightly before his face reddened and he turned away.

 

“Your fee will be ten septims, outlander,” he said, his voice slightly raspier than normal even for a male Dunmer. I smiled and counted out my coin.

 

“Ten septims well spent,” I said, and tended to the rest of my grooming. Perhaps I would pay him another visit, later. I said nothing of it, though, and took my leave immediately after. I had priorities, after all.

 

It wasn't until I had just about reached the tradehouse that it occurred to me that where I had been shot by Francis Dolarhyde there were no wounds at all, only a small scar to mark the bullets' impact into my flesh.

 

I paused momentarily. No doubt when Will and I had hit the water, we would have both been grievously injured, if not outright killed. Before panic over his possible demise could take hold of me, it came to mind that if I were here, alive and well, with no injuries, and that if Will had indeed come here as well (I chose to believe that, given that Fargoth remembered a man who seemed to fit the description I'd given), then no doubt he too was alive and well. My logic had holes in it, of course, but I couldn't allow myself the luxury of panic.

 

However, that still did not answer the remaining question: how had I been healed? How did I get on that ship to begin with? Why had I even been a prisoner, and why had we been separated?

 

Far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. I sighed and continued on my way. Upon arriving at the tradehouse, I immediately put to Arrille the foremost question on my mind.

 

The tall, sallow-skinned elf shook his head. “Afraid I don't remember. We get a lot of people in and out of here. I know the locals well, but I have a tendency towards face-blindness. Unless I see people often enough, I don't recall them well. Sad fact of it is, if he came in here tomorrow asking if I'd seen _you_ , I wouldn't be able to say yes with a great deal of certainty.”

 

“I see. So, a few extra septims isn't likely to aid your memory?”

“It wouldn't. Pity, really. Love to be able to help you. You seem like a nice enough fellow.”

 

 _Well, he obviously doesn't know me very well at all._ “I see. Well, perhaps you could aid me in selecting some equipment, then? I plan to investigate that old cave around the bend form here.” I did not add that I planned to find out if Will had ventured in at some point, and if so, was he still alive?

 

“Of course. Now, you look like a dagger kind of man...” He led me to a display case.

 

Twenty minutes later, Arrille totaled up my purchases. I'd purchased a fine looking steel dagger with a very keen blade, a pair of boots that he informed me were constructed by laminating several layers of insect shell glued with organic resins, then padded with a layer of soft, springy guar calf hide, and a potion, which he assured me actually worked.

 

“How are such things created?” I asked, still eyeing the small but solid bottle skeptically. On Earth, even the most potent medicines could not heal a man's wounds within hours, or even days, of consuming them. I thought back to the ring that I'd returned to Fargoth, how he'd mentioned it had saved his grandmother's life on more than one occasion.

 

He gave me a surprised look. “You are a healer, are you not, Hannibal? Do you not practice the art of alchemy?”

 

Realizing I'd spoen impulsively, I quickly said, “I come from a line of Nord healers who rely less on magic and more on knowledge of anatomy and prevention of illness.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, it wouldn't hurt you to learn some alchemy as well. The basics can be self-taught. I have a mortar and pestle set and some empty vials I can sell you, as well. I also have a book called The Alchemist's Formulary. If you wish, I could add them to your purchases.”

 

“That would be acceptable,” I told him. “Now, my final question is, where might I obtain a night's lodging here?”

 

“I can rent you a small room just upstairs. It's right off the bar, so I fear it may be a bit noisy. Thankfully, this isn't Seyda Neen's busy season, so it shouldn't be too lively later in the evening..”

 

“Very good. Add it to that which I owe you, would you?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Arrille saw me to my room, then, after ensuring that I required nothing else, politely saw himself out. The room was short on amenities, being little more than a stuffed straw mattress on a bedframe, covered with a faded quilt and a chest in which to store one's things. It would serve my purposes, however, and I still had twenty-five septims to my name.

 

I stowed the mortar and pestle and the book in the chest before tucking the dagger into my belt. The tradehouse did not seem overly rough, but I felt loathe to entrust the safety of my remaining money to the chest. The coins went into an inner pouch on the backpack I'd also purchased, and the potion to heal wounds I placed into the coin purse, within easy reach should I have need of it.

 

A few discreet inquiries in the bar regarding both Will and the missing tax collector gave me a little more to go on. Elone, a tall, striking woman with black hair and eyes to match, said, “Well, Thavere out at the lighthouse would be the best one to ask. Him being a tax collector and all, I think that she was the only one who can really stomach him, you know.”

 

“I'll do that. I have another question for you.”

 

“Go right ahead. We're slow right now, and I can only take inventory on the liquor so many times before that gets boring.” She chuckled.

 

“I'm looking for a friend of mine...” For what felt like the dozenth time in one day I found myself describing Will Graham to another stranger who couldn't know—and likely wouldn't care—how much he meant to me.

 

“Hmm, he kind of sounds familiar,” she said. “We get a lot of people in here, though, and dark hair and blue eyes aren't exactly rare. Can you draw?” When I nodded, she said, “Be right back.” She through another doorway and returned with a parchment and piece of charcoal, likely from the stove, but it would serve my needs.

 

I thanked her, and for the next ten minutes, I worked at sketching his face from memory. Even in its slight asymmetry, his face was beautiful to me. I worked quickly but with enough detail to make his face clear to anyone who saw him. I gave her the sketch, saying, “I would offer a reward for his whereabouts, but alas...”

 

She sucked in a breath. “Now, there's a face I'd remember for sure. Good-looking Breton men don't come through Seyda Neen very often.” She looked back up at me. “I'll keep an eye out for him. What did you say your name was?”

 

“Hannibal Lector. His name is Will Graham.”

 

“Of course. You're extremely talented. Instead of mercenary work, why don't you travel to Vivec and sell sketches of the city to passing tourists? You'd make a lot of money.”  
  
“I might consider it,” I said, nt bothering to tell her that I'd done that a number of times in my youth.  
  
Well, good luck to you on finding him. Maybe if you find that tax collector, too, Ergalla might pony up some reward money.” She laid the sketch back down on the counter.

 

“I hope for as much. Thank you for your help, Elone.” I went back downstairs.

 

Arrille was busying himself with the dusting now. When he saw me, he said, “Any luck on Elone knowing about your friend?”

 

I shook my head. “I left a sketch with her, however. It may be useful. Here, allow me to produce one for you.” I borrowed a quill and ink from him, and a short while later, showed him the finished sketch.

 

“It still doesn't ring a bell,” he assured me, “but I'll show it around. Where are you off to, now?”

 

“To the lighthouse. I'm attempting to locate the tax collector, and perhaps collect a reward.” If my own efforts couldn't determine Will's whereabouts, I might have to hire mercenaries of my own.

He made a subtle twist of his face. “Well, he was a tax collector, so not too many people are worried about finding him, other than his woman. She seems nice enough, though. Comes here to buy some supplies or have a drink now and then.”

 

“Thank you, Arrille. I'll leave you to your work.” I left the tradehouse.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Thavere welcomed me in with no small surprise, given that when she'd first seen me I was a bloody, reeking mess of a man right off of a prison ship. “How may I help you, outlander?” Her tone held a note of polite caution.

 

“I came to ask you about your man, Processus Vitellius. I couldn't help but overhear your discussion with Ergalla this morning. I would be happy to help in finding him, if you can spare a few minutes to chat with me.”

 

Her wary stance relaxed almost immediately. “Oh, well, yes. He's been missing for a few days now. Would you care to sit down? For a drink?”

 

“Yes, and thank you.” I still had had neither food nor water since my arrival. As she busied herself in the tiny kitchen just off the almost as tiny sitting area, she said, “My Processus is a good man. I know that no one likes him. No one likes to give their hard-earned money to the Empire, but that's just how it is.”

 

I smiled. “Where I come from, we have a saying about death and taxes being the only two certainties in life.” That made her chuckle. Good, I wanted her to relax and be at ease. I took a seat in one of the chairs.

 

“It is ever thus,” she agreed. “But he was such a good and kind man. If—if the worst has indeed happened, I fear one of the wild beasts native to the area may have gotten him.” Her voice quavered. “I can't conceive of someone actually wanting to murder him., if it has indeed come to that, and I pray to The Mother that it hasn't.”

 

“Speaking of such dire things, do you know of anyone of might have wanted to see him dead? Anyone he quarreled with recently?”

 

She returned from the kitchen with a bottle, two mugs, and a selection of baked goods on a tray. Setting the tray down, she said, “Well, I've only ever seen him lose his temper once. He got into an argument with that Foryn Gilnith. He lives in one of those ramshackle little huts down by the muck pond. They were arguing about how much Gilnith owed in taxes, I think.”

 

“I see. Thank you.” She poured us our drinks—a sweet, clear, orange juice—and I selected a cookie to nibble on. It was dry and hard, and made a shower of crumbs when I bit into it. It also had the exact flavor and texture of cardboard, dotted with dried berries. I was hungry, however, and it would be rude to reject food freely offered. “I'll keep that in mind. Do you know where he might have gone after that? Did he perhaps go for a walk to cool off?”

 

“He may have. He enjoyed going for short walks along the western shore. Though lately, there's been more wild animals than usual, and he's not much of a fighter, I fear. Not against animals, anyway. Humans, he could usually hold his own. Usually.” She bit into a small cake, but seemed quite disinterested in nourishment at the moment.

 

“The day is young enough that I could begin looking for him right away,” I encouraged her. I didn't wish to tell her that if a man very consistent in his habits had gone missing for a few days, there could be only two possible outcomes; he had run off with someone else, or, he was dead. I made myself finish the cookie, then, to be polite, selected one of the little cakes.

 

As I bit into it, she said, “Be careful of the wildlife around here. Though I spoke in haste earlier, Ergalla is correct. Cliffracers in the skies, the mudcrabs along the shores, nix hounds from along the hills....” She shuddered. “Ware when you sit on a likely-looking rock, muthsera. Mudcrab shells look quite a bit like large, lumpy rocks.”

 

I chased the dry, crumbly-sweet taste of the cake with the juice.”Thank you for your advice.” I finished my snack as quickly as one could do without delving into boorishness. Standing, I said, “I should like to get a start on finding your beloved. I will return to you with any information, for good or ill.”

 

“Please do. At least I will have closure, one way or the other.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

A short walk later found me on a footpath just shy of the seacoast. The early afternoon sun felt warm and invigorating on my back. I did not know what season it was here, but it felt to me like mid-spring, perhaps. The world was awakening from its deathlike, dreamless sleep.

 

On another day, I might have meandered at length along dark, philosophical paths about the seasons and how closely they mimic life itself. I recalled that once as a child, I'd stood outside in our garden, showing Mischa the traces of melting snow and the first unfurling buds of the crocuses, the way the buds on the trees uncurled themselves from their long nap on the tips of tree branches.

 

'See, Mischa?' I'd told her, pointing with my free hand, my other one holding her own small one. “The world is waking up again. Soon it won't be winter any more.” How old had I been? I didn't recall. I only remembered that it hadn't been long before she'd been taken away from us. Life and death followed each other in an endless circle; a snake swallowing its own tail.

 

Along the seashore, the waves rolled in where water met earth, occasionally spewing and foaming high into the air when they struck a rock. I recalled Thavere's words about the mudcrabs, and paused a moment to observe. The rock remained still long enough to satisfy me that it was, indeed, merely a rock, and I moved on.

 

Alien insects sang around me, their chorus intertwining with the more familiar sounds of frogs and birds. Gray-green, tall grasses swayed and rustled in the light breeze. Some of the trees had little clusters of shelf-like brown fungi, and more mushrooms—glowing purple or blue-green—clustered around their bases. They all intrigued me, and once I had finished what I had set out to do, I would be sure to come here again and collect samples.

 

The breeze blew again, ruffling my hair, and now I caught a scent both familiar and unwelcome. It was the scent of human decay. I sniffed out the direction, and while it had been but the faintest whiff of a body in active decomposition, it was all I needed.

 

Before long, I reached a small clearing of trampled-down grass, and directly ahead of me, lay a body, pale-skinned, with dark, curling hair.

 

“Will...” I ran towards the body, unmindful of the scavengers that had already been attracted to the remains.

 

 

 

 


	3. Justice is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal confronts Foryn Gilnith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have played Morrowind, it will be obvious that I took liberties with how confronting Foryn Gilnith plays out in game. I apologize for the lateness and slightly shorter chapter this time. Life was a little weird and way too busy this week.
> 
> Thank you everyone for kudos and comments! I

Upon reaching the still form, I fell to my knees. A rat and some wormlike creature I couldn't identify scattered in my wake. I took hold of the body by the shoulder and turned it so that I might see it properly.

Glassy hazel-brown eyes met my own. A scar ran down one cheek, and judging from its color, was several years old. It was not Will.

A sigh of relief gusted out of my chest, but I remained on my knees, heart thudding. 'Thank god,' I thought, rubbing my hand over my face, unmindful of the wetness it found. I wiped it all away, then forced myself to look at the body present. 

It was another Imperial man, though paler of skin than the others I'd met thus far. His neck had been broken, and now I spotted the trickle of blood that had oozed from his nose and ears as well. A skull fracture as well, then. He'd been wearing simple but finely tailored blue tunic and darker blue pants, his boots, while beautiful crafted from some deep beige leather, were not in the least suited for tromping about in the swamps or on the seacoast.

Suspecting that this was the missing tax collector, I searched through the pouch on his body, and found quite a sum of septims. Lying nearby was a leather bound ledger. I opened the book and flipped through it and read.

It had belonged to Processus Vitellius. I skimmed through it, as most of it was simply dates, the taxpayer's name, and the amount paid. One line, however, caught my eye. It noted that one Foryn Gilnith, the same Dunmer that Thavere had mentioned, had refused to pay his taxes. It went on to say that 'Muthsera Gilnith not only refused to pay the 50 septims in taxes legally owed by him to the Empire, he also threatened to 'shove my ledger so far up my own ass that if I opened my mouth, the Imperial Tax Code could be read'. His offensive behavior can be disregarded, however, I must collect on what is owed.'

I closed the ledger and put it in my backpack along with the coins. Standing back up, I wondered aloud, “If it was indeed Foryn Gilnith, why did he not take the money for himself?” I glanced back down at the body. I would return it to the village as proof of his death and so he might be properly buried. I picked him up in a fireman's carry, and returned with the corpse to the village.

I made my way immediately to one of the guards. “I have found Processus Vitellius.”

The guard looked at me, looked at the corpse, then raised his eyebrows. “Found him, eh? Well, don't let me get in your way. Take that and any other proof you have to Socuccius Ergalla. Can't say anyone's really gonna be broken up over the guy, except maybe his womer.” He sighed. “I feel bad for her. He was a pompous ass, but she really loves him. Seems a nice enough womer.”

Well. If only law enforcement had been so lackadaisical back on earth, perhaps Will and I would not have found ourselves in the ocean at the bottom of a cliff. “I see. Excuse me, please. His remains grow heavy.” I made my way to the office.

Soccucius Ergalla stood to greet me as soon as the guard admitted me. “Please leave at once. I am quite busy, and--” His eyes won't wide. “Is That what I think it is?”

I laid the corpse upon his desk. “Yes. It is the remains of Processus Vitellius. His neck and skull have been broken. I found him in the swampy coastline just west of here. Judging from the smell of decomposition and faint lividity, I judge his death to have occurred approximately three days ago, just as he went missing.” I looked up from the corpse to him. 

“I believe the murderer to be Foryn Gilnith.”

Ergalla folded his arms. “That is a very serious accusation that you make, Doctor. What proof have you?” Even so, I thought I saw a flash of belief in his gray eyes.

I laid out everything that I had read in the ledger and Thavere's words. Still unconvinced, Ergalla said, “Muthsera Gilnith has indeed been seen arguing with various citizens, and on one occasion has been tossed out of the tradehouse for being drunk and disorderly. He has quite a temper, and in his youth, used to battle on the pugilism circuit for prizes. But none of these things lead directly to his being a murderer.” He tapped his fingers, considering. “I hate to ask it, but by some chance did you find the septims that Processus was collecting?”

I could have kept them. From the weight alone, it felt like quite a tidy sum. I could have used the money, for both myself, and eventually, Will. But it occurred to me that if Gilnith had killed him, was there some reason that he might simply dump them, along with the body, into the wilds?

“Muthsera Ergalla, did Gilnith ever say anything about a strong hatred of wealth? Of the Empire?”

“He doesn't believe in hoarding wealth for its own sake. That's why he lives in one of those ramshackle shacks near the waterline. When he retired from his career, he donated most of his wealth to the temple in Vivec. If he did commit the murder, why would he simply leave the money on the body?”

“To your knowledge, had he ever suffered any serious head injuries that might lead him to behave in an irrational manner?” I handed over the bag of septims, feeling deep regret at some unknowable future need as I did so.

He locked the bag in his desk, then nodded in thanks “Well, he undoubtedly would have.” He shrugged. “I am no healer. If you wish to pursue the case, you have my blessing. I will share half the collected taxes with you as a reward, should you discover the murderer and bring him to justice, one way or the other.”

I smiled. That was all that I needed. I made my way to Foryn Gilnith's shack.

First, however, I stopped at Arille's tradehouse.

~*~*~*~

“What do you want, outlander?”

Foryn Gilnith eyed me with a narrowed red gaze. His nose was crooked, the result of many bad breaks over the years, and one ear sported fractured cartilage, causing it to droop in a way that might have been endearing on someone else. He wore only ragged trousers, and continued to glare at me as he waited for an answer.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter. May I come in?”

“Why should I let you in? Unless you're bringing me a bottle of mazte, I don't want any visitors.”

I gave him my most winning smile. “I would never presume to call upon someone without bringing a gift.” I showed him the bottle I'd purchased.

He sighed. “All right.” He swung the door wider, letting me enter. I took a seat on a shabby wooden stool while Gilnith fetched two cups. As I poured, he said, “So. What brings a Nord here, much less to Seyda Neen?”

I smiled. “Many things. Let us enjoy our drink, and talk later.”

He grunted and sat down opposite me. He slammed half the drink back in a go before I'd even taken my first sip, then belched. I tilted the cup to my lips, and sniffed. It smelled of rice and a slight tinge of salt, with a small hint of mushrooms. I'd once had a sake with a very similar scent, and upon drinking, the flavor resonated in a similar way, as well.

“All right,” he said, the sudden infusion of alcohol doing nothing to improve his demeanor. “Why are you even here?” He quaffed his drink down, and this time, I spotted a fine silver and onyx ring upon his finger, something far too fine for one such as he, both in affordability, and in worth.

I sipped a bit more, then put down my cup and smiled.

“I am here to kill you.”

The ill-mannered Dunmer threw back his head and laughed. “Really? That's pretty funny, outlander.”

I allowed the chilling smile on my face to speak for me.

He grinned at me, but slowly, the grin began to fade. “You're... you're not joking, are you?” He jumped to his feet. “Come at me, then, n'wah.” He raised his fists, a prizefighter to the very end.

It had to look good. If he were found dead and me without so much as a single scratch, it wouldn't do at all. So I purposely moved a bit more slowly than I normally would.

Gilnith's first punch hit high on my cheekbone. Low, burning pain filled my sinus cavity, making my eyes water. His wiry build belied a strength that surprised me, and he obviously still had all of his old skills. This would require a delicate balance between taking enough hits to make it look good and not allowing myself to be clobbered.

I dodged the uppercut he threw at me, then countered with a swing of my own. It connected with his chin, forcing his head up and back. I purposely moved slowly as I stepped in to press the advantage, allowing him a moment to recover. His next blow caught me on the jaw, just shy of my ear. I heard a click as my jaw briefly went out of place then back again.

Ignoring the pain, I dodged his next blow, then dodged just slowly enough that he could catch my mouth enough to split my lip and bloody it but not break any teeth. I countered with a strong strike to his eye. That elicited his first real sound of pain. He snarled at me and came in low, aiming for my midsection. I charged him, and we collided, falling over the ratty rope hammock that served as his bed.

It swung wildly back and forth before spilling us out onto the rough dirt floor. We thrashed together in a tangle of limbs, wrestling to get the upper hand. Gilnith brought his knee up, trying for my groin, put I pulled away before he could connect.

We rolled away and leapt to our feet almost simultaneously. I could see why he'd won prizes in pugilism contests in the past. He was still an agile and capable fighter. I would do well to not underestimate him.

To that end, I allowed him one last good strike, this one connecting firmly with my nose, nearly breaking it. Pain exploded and spread through my sinuses. I restrained the urge to sneeze, then quickly countered with a hard chop to his throat.

Gilnith's eyes bulged. A series of strangled squawks issued from his broken throat. He collapsed to his knees, his hands going to his airway, which I had utterly crushed. His gray face began to turn a dusky purple-blue. 

“Goodbye, muthsera,” I said in a low voice. “I trust you've learned what comes of rudeness.”

He reached out to me, one hand brushing the hem of my robe. I stepped back out of his reach and watched dispassionately as he fell forward, shuddering in his death throes.

Once he was assuredly dead, I retrieved the ring from his finger, hoping once again that might have something useful. I sighed when I saw the inscription on the inner side of the band: “With all my love---Thavere”. She would no doubt wish to have it back. My desire to ingratiate myself was beginning to improve very inconvenient.

I heard voices outside the hut. Quickly, I situated myself on the floor, doing my best to appear as someone who'd taken a reasonably hard beating. My lip and nose were both bleeding, so it wasn't too difficult. I coughed and breathed hard, adding to the illusion.

The door to the hut flew open. Two of the guards followed by a concerned citizen—a male Dunmer—came inside. “I told you, I heard shouting and fighting!” the mer said. He pointed at me. “This outlander went into the hut shortly before, and--”

“Yes, thank you, we'll take it from here,” one of the guards said. “Please, citizen, let us handle this.” The Dunmer gave me and the guards a look of mixed concern and curiosity, then reluctantly left the hut.

One of the guards helped me to my feet. “Why did you come here to see Foryn Gilnith? Why did you quarrel?”

I pretended to stagger a bit and catch my breath. “I—I'm investigating the murder of Processus Vitellius,” I said. I explained everything, and embellished the fight a bit before adding, “Soccucius Ergalla can verify my story, if need be.” I heard the nasal quality in my own voice. “Does anyone have a handkerchief?”

One of the guards produced a clean cloth for me. I blew my nose and hawked bloody spit into it. “My apologies,” I said. “I will replace it.” I hawked again.

“Not to worry,” He said. “My wife buys them constantly for my allergies.” As if to prove the statement, he sneezed loudly. “Damned swampland.”

“Indeed.”

The guard who'd assisted me to my feet said, “You will no doubt wish to inform Sera Ergalla of what has occurred here.” When I nodded, he said, “Go ahead. We'll see to removing the body.”

“Yes, thank you.” I hid my disappointment from him. I had very much wanted to find out what Dunmer tasted like. Ah, well. There would be other opportunities. 

~*~*~*~

“Excellent work on solving the murder of Processus Vitellius,” Ergalla said. “How did you come by a confession from him?”

I quickly spun a tale of how when I confronted Gilnith he had confessed to the murder, saying that the erstwhile tax collector had been 'throwing his weight around' and 'skimming the taxes' and 'his wealth and arrogance had offended me'. Based on what I had learned of the mer, it seemed extremely likely that he would have said these things.

It was likely to Ergalla as well, seeing as he accepted the story without question. “His intemperance had grown worse as of late, and I am not at all surprised to know he'd become so irrational as to not even attempt to take the coin for himself, even to donate it. A shame that drink and one too many head blows ruined someone only just in his middle years.”

“Agreed. I am more concerned, however, with how Muthsera Thavere will take the news that Processus has been found murdered.” I produced the ring and gave it to Ergalla. “This ring belonged to the late Processus Vitellius. His womer gave it to him. I believe it best that she have it back.”

He smiled and nodded. “I happen to agree. Following our discussion, I will pay a visit to her, and return the ring. I will relay to her all that you have told me. As for you...” He unlocked his desk and took out the bag of septims. “I believe that you are due a reward, Doctor.”

“Thank you.” I watched as he counted out half of the collected tax funds. I deposited them into my own pouch. I made to leave, but he said, “Before you go, sera, perhaps you'd care to share a glass of Cyrodiilic brandy with me?”

“I should like that, thank you.”

Ergalla took two goblets and a glass and silver bottle from the cabinet against the wall. I watched as he poured a treacly brown liquid into the cups. A scent of cinnamon and tart-sweet fruit drifted from my cup. It went down like warm silk before blooming in my belly.

“Very agreeable,” I told him. He nodded. “I get a shipment all the way from the Imperial City every few months. It's one of my few real comforts here.”

“What did you do before you came here, if I may ask?” I wasn't merely making idle conversation.

“Well, I was due for a promotion in the city, moving from a mere clerk up to being the senior scribe to Ocato's majordomo. Unfortunately, internal politics have never been my strong suit.” He sipped his brandy. “I've ever been one to believe that one's work should stand on its own merits, and that whom one has toadied favor with should not be a consideration.”

“Sad to say but it has ever been thus,” I agreed. I did not know who Ocato was, but he was obviously of great importance in matters of society and government.

“yes, well, it is not my wish to burden you with my tales of woe. Suffice it to say, I was sent here instead. I was told that I could find greater favor in taking an unwanted assignment.” He scoffed. “So here I am, making the best of it.” He smiled now. “Mind, if you are a patron of the arts, you ought to travel to Vivec some time. The opera season begins in the next month or so. While it doesn't hold a candle to the offerings of the Imperial City, it's more than adequate.”

“I will take your advice, then. Thank you.”

We talked a while longer, and I gained some additional knowledge of Vvardenfell in the process. Balmora was not terribly far from here, but the route could be confusing to a newcomer, and Ergalla strongly recommended that I make use of the giant flea transport, which he called a 'silt strider'.

“It would behoove you to attend to the task to which you were assigned,” he told me politely. “I realize that you are yet concerned with the whereabouts of your friend, so it occurs to me that you might find more answers in Balmora than you've discovered here.”

“Very well. I take your point.” I finished my drink. Standing up, I said, “I thank you, sera. I will make my way to Balmora.”

He nodded to me. “Very good. Good luck to you in finding your friend. And thank you for your invaluable help here.”

I nodded to him. “I am glad to have been of assistance. I am coming to like Vvardenfell. I'm developing a real taste for the people here.” I smiled.

After leaving the Census and Excise office, I collected my few belongings from the tradehouse. A quick word to Arille confirmed the schedule for the silt strider: it was due to depart for Balmora in about two hours.

First, however, I would be checking out that cave.


	4. Addamasartus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spelunking expedition results in a most fortuitous find.

Chapter Four

It surprised me to note that, for a supposed cave full of sly and crafty smugglers, that there were no guards posted outside. That was a poor tactical decision. However, if they were in collusion with the local guards, as I had begun to suspect, there would be no need, perhaps.

Looking down at the ground at the cave's entrance, I saw another possibility. Blood had splashed in a gaudy display all over the stones and ground here. It had dried not long ago, and I guessed that if there had been a guard here, there wasn't one now. I stood back up and glanced about. Across from the cave was the platform and silt strider. A womer stood at the top, ready to admit passengers. She seemed unaware of my presence near the cave, and I took the opportunity to slip inside.   
The ambient light from a campfire not far inside lit my way, as did the profusion of glowing fungi lining the cave walls. Inexplicably, a rowboat, leaning on its side, dominated the cavern here. It was much too large to pass out the way I had come. I had no time to wonder of it, for now I heard voices deeper inside. I quickly took up cover along the seated side and waited.

“...how'd he even get in here in the first place?” a womer's voice asked.

“How should I know?” a male Dunmer voice asked. “I'm a mage, not someone in the Psijic Order. “But he's in the cage with the rest of the lot now. Fetch a good price in Sadith Mora, I'm betting. Strong and young.”

“More likely he'll end up gracing some Telvanni sorceress's bed,” the womer said. “He's not hard on the eyes, for a Breton.”

The male snorted derisively. “Or a sorceror's. He's too pretty not to, and you know how twisted they are.”

I heard the jealousy in his voice, and apparently, that wasn't lost on his companion. She chuckled, saying, “Oh, come on, Ulves. You know you're the only mer for me.” They were closer now, and I dared a peek over the rowboat's edge. The mage was dressed in plain brown robes, and his companion wore some of that chitin armor. She carried only a small knife, from what I could see.

I knew nothing about magic other than in children's stories and the few movies I'd had the chance to watch with Will and Abigail. In any event, the reality of it would be vastly different than what the movies had portrayed. I would need to exercise the utmost caution.

The mage sniffed. “That's what you told Fels. And Maru. And Nevyn, too.”

She chuckled. “Well, you were the one who wanted to keep things light and casual. I gotta go check on the prisoners. You stay here and keep a look out. Your spells are the best defense we have, since that Breton took out three of our good men.” She turned and walked away, leaving Ulves to fume in her wake. He watched her go, red eyes narrowed, mouth in a sour line. Once he was sure she was out of earshot, he muttered a foul name for her under his breath.

I didn't waste further time. I rose and and in two near-silent strides, I was on him. Before he could call an alarm or make use of magic, I grasped his head in my hands, thumbs thrusting into his eye sockets. His only cry was quickly silenced as they dug in deep, then curved around the orbital bones. Vitreous humor oozed over my thumbs as his eyeballs ruptured but I paid it no mind. With a firm grip thus established, I twisted his head around. A sickening crack established that his neck was now broken, and if not already dead, he would be very quickly.

I knelt beside the corpse and quickly searched it. Turning out his pockets revealed a few septims, another healing potion, and something that vaguely resembled food. I tossed aside the dubious snack and pocketed the rest.

I rose quickly to my feet once more and looked about. The light here was dim, provided only by torches in wall sconces and the occasional lantern. Straight ahead of me a natural doorway led deeper into the cavern proper. Keeping an eye out for more smugglers, I paused to have a look around.

The cavern had no special features, no stalagmites or stalactites. I could hear water dripping in the distance, and a soft slapping of water along stone walls. I smelled the water, unwashed bodies, fungi, and...

Was it Will that I scented out, or did my nose deceive me?

It wasn't the scent of that atrocious aftershave that I caught. Instead, it was the scent of his sweat, a scent I recalled well, though more powerful than his usual freshly washed self. It was his scent mixed with the salt of the sea air and a touch of brackish swamp water and the woody yet somehow meaty smell of the hypha facia mushrooms that grew on logs and trees outside. I turned to the left, and let my nose guide me.

A splash of blood on the rocks at my feet made my heart quicken. I gave regard to no god, yet it was almost on my lips to pray to whatever gods made this world home that it was not Will's blood. I smiled to myself. Will was, of course, still alive. Together, we'd taken down Dolarhyde, and he had been worth several of these scruffy smugglers. Also, the womer had said he was being held with additional prisoners. As to where, all I could do was rely upon my sense of smell.

Moving along the passage required careful movement. Loose rocks underfoot made for uneven footing, not to mention it was hard to walk quietly. As I proceeded further along, I picked up other scents: that of the womer who'd come this way, and stranger scents, one making me think almost of an old lion pelt I'd come across in an antique store once and the other scent more of the swamp with an undercurrent of unwashed flesh.

I slowed my pace. I didn't want the womer to hear my approach. As I did so, I heard the womer speaking again.

“You could make this a lot easier on yourself, you know. Stop being so stubborn.”

I heard a very familiar derisive snort of laughter. “Yeah, at what cost? I get to be your boytoy? I don't think so, lady.”

A grunt. Then, “I can think of far worse things, Breton. Do you want those lovely dark curls held in the fist of your new master or mistress? Or those exotic blue eyes bubbling away in some experimental elixir?”

I quickened my pace as much as I could while still remaining as silence as possible. I squeezed through a narrow gap and came out into a wider section of the cavern. 

The sight of Will held in chains brought rage boiling to the surface. The Dunmer womer speaking to him had removed her helmet, her black hair held back in a long ponytail. Her fine-boned face was barely an inch from Will's, close enough to kiss him. That likely would be her next step: if words failed, she would attempt to ply him with her body.

I pulled out the dagger in my belt.

Will's sneer softened, and a crafty look filled his eyes. His voice softened, became husky. “Well, maybe you're right. What you're proposing really doesn't sound so bad, when you put it like that.” He looked at her from under lowered, dark lashes. “Sometime, I know what's in my on best interests. I can be stubborn like that.”

Yes, indeed he could. I smiled, watching him in action. I had taught him well. All this time, he'd learned from me. I moved closer, keeping behind him as I moved in the low light of the cave. Across the way, I noticed the others held here as well. A feline-looking humanoid, and two reptile folk. The cat person's whiskers twitched at the sight of me, her ears laid half-back in consternation. I held a finger to my lips. They stared back at me, but made no sound to alert the womer, who had leaned in to kiss Will, her lips parted.

Will opened his mouth further than even the most passionate of kisses would require. His teeth sank with savage fury into her lower lip. She shrieked and tried to pull back, but he held fast. With one vicious shake of his head, he tore her lip off. Blood sprayed across his face and the womer fell back, hands flying to her mutilated mouth. 

His feet, though bound together, had not been chained down to any surface.. He spat the chunk of flesh out, then brought up both legs. Pistoning them out, he caught her squarely in the stomach, sending her flying. She impacted the cave wall and fell to its floor in a daze. Before she could get enough of her wits back to counter, I rushed over to her. I took the still-squalling womer's hair in my fist and jerked her head back before slicing her throat to the bone.

I tossed her soon-to-be corpse aside and ignored the blood drenching my sleeves as I tucked the dagger back into my belt. Will still hadn't realized who I was, and as I searched her still-bleeding remains, he glared at me, spoiling for a fight.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten who I am,” I said, the hint of a smile on my lips. I tore off her armor and rummaged through the clothes beneath it.

“H—Hannibal? Is it really you?” His tone was one of a man who'd spent ages searching for something deadly yet deeply precious, a jeweled scorpion, perhaps, full of fear and wonder and ultimately relief. “How did you—I mean, what--”

I at last found that which I'd been seeking: a small iron key. “Not now, Will.” I wanted nothing more than to let all the emotions that had accumulated over the past several days—months, even years—come pouring forth in a visceral flood. But not now, not with the prying eyes of these strange animal folk upon us both.

Kneeling at his side, I inserted the key into the locks that held his wrists shackled behind his back. “We can talk later,” I told him.

“Yeah, okay. Free them too. The Argonians, and the Khajiit.”

“Same old Will, always rescuing strays.” I did as he asked, and kept a wary eye on them, should they decide to prove hostile despite my assistance. They only made to flee. One of the lizard folk—an Argonian—turned to give his or her gratitude before leaving the cavern. I nodded to them, and Will weakly raised a hand in a half wave.

I finished releasing Will from his bonds, and only then allowed myself the pleasure of looking upon him fully. His dark hair was slightly longer than when I'd last seen him, and some of it had been crusted over with blood. A still-healing head wound snaked through his scalp. Blood from the womer I'd killed coated his mouth and splattered his face in grim red freckles. Mud smeared his green suede jerkin and trousers. His feet were bare and yet more mud slimed his linen shirt.

Still, he was the most beautiful man I'd ever known.

Will noticed my staring and smirked. “Take a picture, it will last longer.”

I smiled. “Unfortunately, that technology doesn't exist here, dear Will.” 

He snorted. “Yeah. Well, there's always your memory palace.”

I stroked the hair away from his face before cupping his chin in one hand. “Sweet as it is, it pales in comparison to the real thing.”

That elicited a smile. “Can we get out of here now, or are we finally going to consummate three years' worth of lingering glances and you checking out my ass on the sly in this cave?”

It was my turn to smirk. “As much as I am sure we would both enjoy that, I would rather us be off and out of here.” Remembering the potion in my pouch, I took it out and gave it to Will. “You might want to drink this first. You have quite the gash in your scalp.”

“Yeah, I got about halfway through here when one of them caught me with a crack over the head,” he told me, and drank the potion. His eyes widened. “The mage! We have to be careful, there's a--”

“He's dead, Will. I took him down before he could so much as pull a rabbit out of his hat.” I stood, then helped Will to his feet. He wobbled a little and slipped an arm around my waist. I felt the firm, wiry muscles present and willed myself to not think too much about it. He looked at me with uncharacteristic sternness, saying, “I'm not kidding, man. Magic is nothing to fuck with in this world. I saw that guy light someone who pissed him off on fire. One of the other smugglers. The smell is still lingering.” He made a face.

“Well, that would explain the smell of roasted pork,” I said wryly. Will surprised me with a smirk of his own.

“Hungry?”

I raised a brow. “Before defeating the Red Dragon, you would have shuddered at the thought.” We began making our way out of the cavern.  
He stopped walking and looked up at me. “I meant what I said before I took us off that cliff. What we have is beautiful. Horrifyingly beautiful. I can't change you, Hannibal. You are who you are, and I am who I am. I've been thinking on it since I've been here. I'll explain later.” He looked at me again, and I knew at once that I would not like some of what he had to say.

Leave it to Will to pique my curiosity then leave me without satisfaction. “I'll be holding you to that, Will.”

“Fine. Right now though, I really just want to get out of Seyda Neen. I'm getting damp rot just standing here.” He looked balefully behind us. “I came in here because I'd heard a dog barking. You didn't see a dog, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, Will. I did not.” I wasn't a dog person. I preferred cats for their quiet dignity and grace. Still, I would not go out of my way to harm one, unless it was attacking us. 

“Damn it. It's probably long gone, or those assholes killed it.” He sighed. “Come on. I got some stuff stashed back in town, and I want to pick it up before we leave.”

“As do I.”

~*~*~*~

With Will by my side, I retrieved my belongings from my room at the tradehouse. Neither of us could bear to let the other out of his sight. Will led me to a small lean-to he'd erected just west of where I'd found the tax collector's body.

“How'd you know where to look for me?” he asked as he stuffed a motley collection of items into a knapsack.

“I didn't, actually. I spent a good amount of time since I first arrived asking about you. I gave everyone I could a description of you, and someone said you'd gone to the west and another thought he'd perhaps seen you head into the hills. You've been quite the busy little bee.”

He smiled. “I've been here for about three weeks. I asked around about you, but quickly realized that I wasn't going to get anywhere without money. Even here it makes the world go 'round.” 

I helped him to break down the lean-to. Packing it up, I said, “I encountered that same issue, Will. Well, we've found each oher now, and you'll be glad to know I've acquired a tidy sum of septims. Plus, we have a small task to attend to, in Balmora. That is likely to net us some more.”

“Yup,” he agreed. “So, we gotta go ride that giant tick thing now, I guess.”

“Flea,” I corrected. “It's called a silt strider, Will.”

“Yeah, that. We'll find a good place to hole up and rest and eat something. Not someone. Something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Perish the thought.” He gave me a sharp look. I wondered again what it was that he intended to talk about. I shrugged. It would do no good to discuss it right now. We made out way to the silt strider platform.


	5. The Spymaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will reach Balmora, and pay a visit to the Spymaster, Caius Cosades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short. I got a new job and the flu at the same time. Sorry about that!
> 
> Thank you everyone who has given me kudos and comments. It keeps me going. Just when I think no one likes this, I get a comment that lifts my spirits. :)

Up close, the silt strider was both impressive and frightening.

It truly did resemble a gigantic flea. Its upper body rested upon four long, spindly legs, with a forepair in front. The body had been carved out, and a seating platform had been installed as well as racks for cargo and luggage. At the very front of the beast, just behind its minuscule head, another seat had been implanted, as well as a console bearing a series of levers. The great insect hardly seemed bothered by its conversion into a beast of burden, or perhaps it was simply too small of intellect to be aware.

“That is... that's... Wow.”

I agreed with Will, though it begged a question. “You've been here three weeks, you said?”

He nodded. “Yeah, why?”

I pointed to the strider. “In all this time, you never once decided to satisfy your curiosity regarding this thing?”

His look conveyed that he thought my question silly. “I was more interested in discovering your whereabouts than I was in sight seeing, Hannibal.” He gave it a sidelong glance, and I understood at once. 

I allowed myself the luxury of a teasing smile. “You're not afraid of it, are you Will?”

He scowled. “Well, no, but-- okay. I'd rather not ride on that thing without you with me, okay?” He glared at it as if it had no right to exist at all.

“There's no need. We're going to Balmora together, after all. Unless you'd rather walk the four or five hours minimum that it will take to get there.” I looked up at the sky, in which a few clouds had gathered. “It also might rain.”

“Fine” he grunted. Then, under his breath but just loud enough for me to hear, he muttered, “Dick.”

I smirked but said nothing. We approached the Dunmer at the top of the platform, with Will telling him, “We need to get to Balmora as quickly as possible, please.”

The redhaired male Dunmer raised his brows a bit at Will's demand. “What's the rush? Life, much like a trip on my old friend here, is meant to be savored.”

“Your old friend is a giant bug,” Will countered.

“Albeit one that can get you where you're wanting to go. You have important business in Balmora, no? No matter how important one's business is, one should always take time to smell the gold kanet along the way.”

“We're on important business for the Empire,” I interjected in hopes that it would speed things along.

“It's business time,” Will said, “not smell the flowers time. So can we hire you, or not?”

“Of course you can. Why didn't you just say so? Climb aboard, and we'll be off.”

Will looked positively murderous as we climbed aboard. His eyes threw daggers my way as he muttered, “Not a word out of you, Hannibal.” He made a face at the way that the platform made soft squishing noises as we boarded.

“Perish the thought,” I said with another smirk on my face. To the driver I said, “I shouldn't like to tax this, ah, remarkable beast, but we do have very important business to attend to, and must move quickly.”

The driver nodded. “Of course. I had business in Balmora once...”

He got us moving on our way. For the next two hours, he regaled us with a lengthy and mildly obscene story about his 'business' in Balmora, which had apparently consisted of getting quite drunk and visiting various houses of ill repute in the town's red light district. Will and I kept exchanging looks along the way, and making the appropriate noises to indicate we were listening. 

Perhaps Will was in a mischievous mood, for even though he could tell I was mildly disgusted and annoyed by our driver's ribald tale of debauchery, he refused to stop asking so many probing questions, and indeed, seemed to be encouraging the mer. 

“So after the dancing girls left the stage, what happened next?” His blue eyes darted to my face. I ignored him and focused instead on the passing terrain, which had both comforting familiarity and alien beauty.

The driver hawked and spat over the side with no care for who might have been passing below. “Well, that was when the performers decided to put on a performance of “The Lusty Argonian Maid”. I don't normally go for them lizard girls, but damn, that Argonian playing Lifts-Her-Tail? Hotter than the lava flowin' outta Red Mountain!”

“I'll bet that was a sight,” Will encouraged. I growled at him, and it was his turn to smirk at me. 

“Oh yeah, it was! And then...” he went on about even more things in even more unwanted detail, even after Will began showing obvious discomfort. He shifted in his seat and squirmed. 

“Hoisted by your own petard,” I teased. 

“Oh, shut up.”

The sight of a walled town arose in the distance. Will and I both breathed a sigh of relief. At this point, we both began tuning out our driver's never-ending flow of nearly one sided conversation. Eventually, he concluded, “--and that's how I discovered that I had genital warts. The healer who treated them was quite disturbed.”

“As are we,” I told Will. He nodded in agreement. Both of us were profoundly grateful when he stopped at the platform just outside of the town of Balmora.

“Well, thank you for the ride and that information,” I told him.  
“Yep, sure, anytime, outlanders.” Don't forget the name of that bordello, now!”

“We won't,” Will assured him. He couldn't disembark fast enough. I followed quickly behind. Neither of us turned to look back at the driver, but we could hear him call to us, “It's called the Brass Trumpet! Or as I like to call it, the Brass Strumpet!” His laughter trailed away as he drove off.

“Next time, we're walking,” I told Will. He nodded.

~*~*~*~

A few discreet inquiries of the local citizens pointed us in the direction of Caius Cosades. One of them asked, “Why are you looking for that old sugar-tooth?”

“We're with the Imperial Cult,” Will said quickly. “Spreading the good word about Talos to everyone, even those in the gutter.”

The Dunmer woman shrugged. “You outlanders are strange, wasting your time on your Imperial gods when the Tribunal is the true way of life. I doubt he would hear your words, but if you insist, he's on the southwest of town, almost but not quite in the slums.” She sniffed. “That will likely be his next step, if he keeps on with the skooma.” She huffed off on her way.

I raised my brows at Will. He shrugged. “Just play along when we get there.”

“Right.” I grasped his thinking immediately. Will knocked on the door. A moment later, we heard a voice call out. “Just a moment, all right?”

We waited. A moment later, the door opened just a crack, and a weary-looking, lined face framed in gray hair peered out at us. The eyes looked unfocused, but they were clear and sharp. He put on the face of an old addict, but only to an unobservant eye. “What do you want, strangers?”

“We're here spreading the good news about Talos,” Will said loudly enough that any passersby could hear. Lowering his voice, he said, “You are Caius Cosades, right?”

“I have no alms to give to the cult,” Cosades said, playing along with us. In a softer voice, he added, “Why have you come? What is your business? I'm just an old sugar tooth.”

I fished out the orders given to me. All but shoving them in his face, I said, “We've come to share the word of the Nine with those who have been brought low by the ills of the world.” In an undertone I hissed, “I bear orders from the Emperor himself, Caius Cosades. Look at the seal. Let us in, or you're going to have to explain to Uriel Septim himself why.”

He dropped the act at once. “Get in here.” In a louder voice, he said, “Yes, yes! For truly I am blessed, that mighty Talos sends his servants unto this unworthy maggot. Come in, and take your rest.” He swung the door wide, letting us in.

Caius Cosades wore only old black trousers, and why not? He was at home, and had expected no visitors. It still felt a bit odd, imparting to this man who we were and why we had come, while he stood about shirtless and slightly sweaty, his feet bare. His home was small and threadbare, but surprisingly tidy but for a tipped-over wine bottle and some skooma vials on the table.  
“Sit,” he invited us, and we seated ourselves at the table. He took a seat on the bed, saying, “So. You have brought sealed orders for me. May I have them, please?”

“Of course.” I handed him the orders. With deft fingers, he broke it open and began to read, his expression thoughtful. Whoever he was, I could see that life had been rough on him. He wasn't much more than a few years older than me, and yet he looked to be in his early sixties. After a few minutes, he looked back at us.

“My orders pertain only to Hannibal Lecter,” he began, “but if it suits you, his friend, to work with him, then so be it. I am not at liberty to spill all at once what is afoot here.” He looked at us both, then spoke again. “You are both agents of the Empire, and thus, are now members of the Blades, and under my orders.” He let that sink in.

“So. What comes next?”

“Both of you are new to this land,” he said. “I can tell that both of you have some skill in martial or magical arts. Perhaps both. I, however, cannot guide you beyond what is in my scope to do so. I strongly advise that both of you find and join a suitable guild. This will provide you with resources, support, and, most importantly, a cover identity.” He got up and went to a chest in the corner of the room. “The Fighters Guild and the Mages Guild are just across the river, not far from the silt strider. I also strongly suggest that you seek out the Blades trainers. I can provide you with a list, and also...” He reached into the chest and withdrew a leather bag of coins.

“Two hundred septims. Buy yourselves some gear, or use it to buy information, as needed.”

“Information on what?” Will asked.

“Your mission to start with. I have some basic orders for you. Over at the fighters Guild, I have an informant as to the information that the Emperor is seeking. His name is Hasphat Antabolis.Tell him I wish to have what information he has on the Sixth House, and the Cult of the Nerevarine. Nerevar was some sort of local hero, and the Sixth House is some Great House of the Dunmer that was lost to time. That's all I know.”

“If he's just a short walk away form your home,” I inquired, “why not obtain this information for the Emperor yourself?”

“I have many irons in the fire, most of which require that I continue perpetrating the illusion that I am but an old addict,” Cosades responded. “Also, I am a Spymaster of the Blades. I'd say I've earned the right to sit about in my house, doing nothing, and I'll be right here, continuing to do nothing, when you return.”

“Best we be on our way, then,” I said. He hadn't been rude, but he'd toed the line within millimeters. Will and I stood up and saw ourselves out. 

 

Neither of us were the burly sort that the Fighters Guild preferred, but Will and I both exhibited enough competency with bladed weapons—and Will with a bow—that the tall Nord woman with the reddish eyes gave us admission, provided we would recite the Oath.  
“Rules are simple,” Eydis Fire-Eye told us. “Obey your superiors, carry out orders to the best of your ability, don't steal from your fellow guild members, don't embarrass the guild, don't break the law, or, at least don't get caught. Got it?”

We got it.

She nodded. “Good. Welcome to the guild. There's a barracks, if you want to sleep, or you can use the practice room.”

“Where would we find Assbut Antabolis?” Will inquired. Her eyes twitched and her lips pressed in briefly before she said, “That's 'Hasphat'. You'll find him downstairs, in the practice room.” She bit her lip “Just, ahh, if you're ready for orders, come back and see me.”

“We shall,” I assured her. Once we were out of her earshot, I said, “'Assbut', Will? Really?”

“Hey, I got the name mixed up. Watching that episode of Supernatural where Castiel calls someone 'assbutt' didn't help matters. Lets go find the guy.”

“Yes, let's. Let's also see if we can avoid any further malapropisms, shall we?” He stuck his tongue out at me.

'I'll have a use for that tongue later, believe me,' I thought, but only returned the gesture with a smile


End file.
